


12AM

by awkwardspaceturtle (CastelloFlare)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7973665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastelloFlare/pseuds/awkwardspaceturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyday, Shiro pays to have Keith for 6 hours.<br/>6 hours of just sleeping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	12AM

**Author's Note:**

> welp what is sleep and what is work when there's sheith to be done  
> this was unbeta'd, do forgive me for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes

It’s almost 12AM.

Shiro sits reading the local paper at his usual spot at the reception hall – at the left corner of the sofa fronting a long coffee table and the front desk.

To the employees who have become familiar with this young man who never fails to make his scheduled appointment every day at midnight, Shiro looks like the reserved yet charming young elite, a neophyte yet steadily gaining reputation in the business world, the type who would frequent places like _this_ while clad in a neatly pressed suit, brown loafers, with a newspaper at hand.

Unbeknownst to most, the reading material’s true purpose isn’t much of something to kill time with than a much needed distraction for Shiro.

The intimidating words and well-taken pictures at least take his mind off what is really happening behind those innocent looking cream-colored walls. The gruesome articles at least fills his mind with imagery he can swallow, rather than imagery of what _he_ is currently doing to service other _men;_   _who_ he is sharing the bed with.

The waiting was always the worst, and so is leaving in the mornings.

It’s almost 12AM.

 

 

“Master Shirogane, the _Crimson Lotus_ will be ready in ten minutes to accommodate you.”

The young lady at the reception smiles politely at him through fake eyelashes. She looks young, about the same age as Shiro was when he got into the Academy. Shiro wonders if she still goes to school.

“Thank you, Sherry,” he smiles politely. Albeit a regular, no one has asked him anything about himself, other than his preferred payment method and, well, special preferences, yet all these were requirements of the service. In turn, he keeps his own questions for himself – he doesn’t ask how there are many young people in the _Menu_ , what their real names are, or why _Keith_ ended up working there.

Shiro glances at his polished silver watch – indeed, it was ten minutes to 12AM. The time allotted for Keith to bathe after his last client before Shiro, and for the sheets to be changed. These special conditions, Shiro had generously paid for.

An older man in his mid-fifties comes out of the curtained hall, face flushed yet satisfied. He continues and exits towards the double doors, nods at the receptionist, leaves without a word. Obviously one of the regulars.

Shiro catches a whiff of Keith when he passes by before disappearing through the door.

The newspaper crumples softly where he holds it.

 

 

It’s finally 12AM.

Shiro stands in front of the familiar mahogany door, an ornament of a red lotus the size of his palm etched on the wooden surface. The _Crimson Lotus_ room – where he spends his nights living another life, as another person – where several other men lie with Keith as early as the afternoon until his daily appointment at midnight.

Shiro closes his eyes, wills himself to stop frowning, breathes.

He knocks on the door, enters.

Keith is splayed out on the bed in nothing but a flimsy silk robe. His hair has been air-dried, his skin flushed from the hot shower. The air doesn’t smell of sex or of other men – just Keith’s soap and musk, and the fragrance of new sheets.

“I told you not to politely knock on the door anymore,” Keith says as he turns on his side and props a cheek on one hand to face Shiro. His legs shift, making the silk run through his skin like flowing water, parting where Shiro can have a _painfully clear_ view of his creamy inner thigh.

“You’re my _client_ , Shiro, you’re literally paying to legally disrespect my space and my body.”

The way he says it – as if it’s the accepted reality – makes Shiro’s chest clench, as if invisible chains had taken hold of his heart and wrapped it in tight coils. His eye visibly twitches at the bitterness of the words; despite how nonchalant Keith sounded, Shiro knew this wasn’t the life he had wanted.

Seeing his small yet impacted reaction, Keith’s face considerably softens in realization, regret and tenderness. His eyes reflect a mournful apology, not only for the words said out loud, but also for those left unsaid, yet not unheard. His voice is quiet when he reaches out a hand, gestures for Shiro.

“Come here.”

Shiro looks at him as if he’s the most important thing in the world, like he’s the only thing that ever matters – a sad longing gaze that always makes Keith want to look away, but this time he holds it – and slowly, Shiro closes the door behind him, takes off his loafers and leaves his trendy leather satchel by the door, and walks toward the bed.

Once Shiro sits at the edge of the bed, Keith moves to remove his suit jacket, uncoil his tie, unbuttons his vest. With every piece of clothing stripped, Keith smells more of Shiro’s musk mixed with gym shower soap and the night air. Shiro always showers before coming to the _Harem_ ; he could shower here in the establishment but bathing beforehand saves more time with Keith, he had said.

He helps Shiro strip down to his black boxer briefs, clothes neatly folded and stowed in a dresser by the bed. Wordlessly they get inside the single provided blanket, Keith lying with his back against the warm protective bulk of Shiro’s physique.

Shiro drapes his metal arm over Keith’s slender torso, finds his human hand, laces their fingers together.

Keith shifts closer to him to feel the rise and fall of his broad chest. Shiro breathes in Keith’s scent, smells the aroma of his shampoo and the citrusy tang of his soap. Their naked legs get tangled in each other, sinewy and bony limbs twisting around to warm the other.

Inside this room, the _Crimson Lotus_ , everything else fades away and he spends the night living a different life, as a different person – as someone who can hold Keith, and be held by Keith in return; as someone who sleeps side by side with his most treasured person; as someone who pretends he doesn’t have to leave this fantasy in the morning.

Keith, no matter how feisty and brave, feels small in his arms. The sensation of his skin, no matter how many times he’s been touched by other men, always feels familiar and new at the same time – like the first love that makes you nervous and restless, and simultaneously like the last love, the person you decided to marry.

Bathing in Keith’s gentle warmth under the sheets is waking up in a quiet forest, the sun creeping up through the tiny spaces in the leaves of tall trees. Feeling his heartbeat against his own is watching the moon dangle in the dark sky surrounded by a million twinkling stars.

Knowing he’ll be leaving _this_ in a few hours is letting himself get pulled into the gravity of the sun with the knowledge that he’ll be scorched to ashes.

Shiro’s arms around Keith tighten a notch, and Shiro nuzzles deeper into the softness of his hair.

Keith leans in to his touch – whether it is a reflex born of selling his body off to rich old perverts or his own impulse to get closer to Shiro, Shiro doesn’t ask – but when he _does_ , his lower body also leans backward, and his eyes flutter open at the unmistakable bulge in the middle of Shiro’s legs.

Shiro immediately pulls back as soon as he feels Keith starting to grind against him, perspiration seeping out of his pores despite the air conditioning of the small room.

“What the fuck—” the impatience and exasperation in Keith’s voice is plain and audible, and he turns around to glare at Shiro in the semi-darkness.

Shiro looks at him, a guilty expression on his face – _that wasn’t supposed to happen, that wasn’t what sleeping here should be all about_ —

“Why don’t you just let me do my _damn job_ , Shiro?” Keith says through gritted teeth. They’re both sat on the bed, facing each other in the dimly lit room. The pale light of the moon casts a bluish glow over Keith’s porcelain skin, against the curve of his slender shoulder where the silk has fallen and left on display, unprotected, enticing.

“I am,” Shiro closes his eyes, wills his thoughts into focus. “I’m paying you to literally sleep with me. That makes it your job.”

“Well then why don’t you just hire a wife, smother her with your harmless hugs all night?” Keith is half-screaming. “You know very well what I do for a living, Shiro. It’s dirty, it’s immoral. It’s not your happy domestic getaway.”

“Keith—” Shiro begins, but Keith cuts him off.

“Do you even know how much an hour with me costs? Do you?” His voice drips with acid, his words a cry of pent up rage. “You pay for six _fucking_ hours, Shiro, and to do what? Nothing you can’t do at home. I’m sure there are a lot of beautiful rich girls and guys who would even pay _you_ to bed them for a night. What are you even doing here?”

“Keith—” Shiro tries again, but falters at the sight of moonlight gathering in small puddles around Keith’s eyes.

“Shit—” Keith seethes, and turns away as hot tears stream down his flushed cheeks. “I said I wouldn’t do this—”

Memories flash through Shiro’s mind like a movie reel – he remembers, with startling vividness, how Keith’s tiny hand felt in his in the orphanage; how they had climbed trees and skinned their knees trying to reach the sky; how Keith would run to his cot in the middle of a thunderstorm at night; and how Keith had cried when his foster parents came to take him away one day.

That day Keith cried when they parted, Shiro had ached for him.

Now, years later, Shiro finds that it’s more than an ache. He’s actually feeling himself, and the barriers he had worked so hard to build, _all_ crumble, break, disintegrate.

“Keith,” he half-whispers, Keith’s name a gentle invocation on his lips as he pulls his childhood friend into his big arms, envelops him in his warmth that he hopes would melt the pain away somehow.

Keith pounds his fists angrily against Shiro’s bare chest. Hot tears spill onto his skin like droplets of a little sun.

“Why the hell did you show up here?” His voice has lost its fury, taken over by a deep kind of sadness that Shiro had never seen in him since reuniting with him more than a month ago. He chokes on his words, yet he goes on, unwavering. “You’re earning a living for your dream, why are you wasting it here? Why do you waste it on me? You’ve got a life ahead of you, Shiro, and I—”

He looks up at Shiro, cheeks streaked with lines of water, eyes pleading and searching Shiro’s face. His hands grasp at Shiro’s bare arms, neck and shoulders.

“Someone like me isn’t worthy of lying next to you. You won’t even touch me—”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro breaks – he pulls Keith closer, wrapping himself around Keith’s shaking frame.

“ _Keith, Keith, Keith—_ ”, he whispers, chanting his name and his name alone like a mantra as he rocks them  both in the cradle of his arms.  Gradually, the sobbing and the shivering turn into small hiccups, and the only thing pounding wildly on his chest now is his own heart.

When Keith has finally calmed down, Shiro pulls apart to place his forehead against his.

“You’re broken, but there’s not a tainted piece of you I wouldn’t love,” Shiro whispers, his eyes locked onto the glassy purple orbs before him. “Every jagged edge, every bleeding cut – I accept them. If it’s not you, my own pieces wouldn’t fit into anyone else.”

Keith’s lungs seem to cease functioning, but in the next instant, everything else seems to cease to exist as a pair of lips find another in the dark. Against the wall opposite the curtained window, the moonlight casts a shadow of two people melded into one, their heads tilting into their own rhythm, the kiss unpracticed and yet gaining momentum.

When they pull apart, Shiro’s lips are swollen and he swears he’s never lost his breath like this before.

After a beat, Keith whispers against his wet lips.

“Did you _also_ wait a long time to do that? With _me_?”

The corners of Shiro’s mouth turn up in a gentle smile.

“You don’t even know.”

“So you love me, huh.”

“ _Madly_.”

“Shit,” Keith sucks in through his teeth. “Me, too.”

Shiro’s light embarrassed chuckle makes his stomach flutter.

“I’ve never asked a client to touch me before. It’s always the other way around.”

Shiro pulls him closer, savoring how Keith’s skin feels like, tastes like against his.

“I’m waiting until I’m not a client anymore to do it.”

This time, Keith pulls back to look him squarely in the eye. His own eyes search Shiro’s face, realization dawning on his moonkissed features.

“What are you—”

“I’m working on overtaking the company, Keith,” Shiro says, his expression set in a determined look. He cups Keith’s face gently, and the sensation sends chills down his spine – he has long since wanted to touch Keith tenderly this way. “Someday I’ll buy this place. Free all of you.”

Keith’s eyes go wide in the soft moonlight – his gaze is an assortment of incredulity, fear, extreme elation, hope. “Shiro – do you even know who owns this place? You’re going to get crushed—”

“Not as I’ll be if I don’t fight for you,” Shiro says, and he takes Keith’s hands in his. “I just found you again, Keith. I’m not about to lose you again.”

Keith swallows hard, his eyes burning yet again.

“You’re an idiot, Shiro,” he half-whispers, but he’s also smiling. The first tender smile he has ever graced Shiro with.

“Yeah, I am,” Shiro says quietly, and he lets himself drown into Keith’s loving kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading until the end!  
> kudos and/or comments are <3  
> also, if you wanna sheith/shirocest, feel free to hmu on tumblr  
> this is the mentally poopy sheith trash eruriholic


End file.
